the king of queens
by thejuicebandit
Summary: In which Peter Parker, who is without a home and family, is taken in by the Avengers. Set before Captain America: Civil War, so Peter Parker and Tony Stark haven't formally met yet.
1. Chapter 1

Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

Nobody knew it. Every day after school, he put on his red sweatshirt with blue sleeves and pants and the red mask with black goggles, and went out to fight crime under another name, another identity. As soon as he put that mask on, he was a different person. A better person.

Maybe that's why he loved it so much. To be someone else, to be someone cool, someone that people admired, even if it was just for a few hours every day, made Peter feel special. Made him feel like maybe he was more than just a high school nerd, more than just a kid who got picked on and loved LEGOs.

And whenever Peter saw the Avengers on the news... they inspired him. He wanted to be like that, to be one of the people whom everyone looked up to.

The Avengers? They had it made. Everyone loved them. Everyone would give anything to be like them. Especially Peter Parker. Lucky for him, he was one step closer than the rest. The spider that had bitten him six months prior had transferred its proportional abilities to Peter's body. Thanks to these powers and the web shooters he had engineered himself, he was like a little superhero. And he loved being a little superhero. But sometimes he wanted something a little bigger.

School was boring. Especially in comparison to flying around the city in a red and blue costume and helping people under a different name and a different face. So as soon as that faithful last bell rung through the building and it's shrill, hollow cry rang through the halls, Peter sprinted out the door and ran into the alley, _his_ alley, where he could change himself into something better.

Peter went into the alley, and sixty-five seconds later, Spider-Man ventured out, donned in his costume that may have looked cheesy but was the best Peter could do (and frankly, he thought it looked pretty cool).

And so Spider-Man scaled the building next to him, sat on the roof and waited for excitement.

The first thing he saw was smoke, about three miles away. He swung over and arrived within a minute. A building was on fire.

Spider-Man looked around. A few people had escaped the burning building, but the firefighters had not yet arrived. He went over to a woman who was coughing next to him, a burn on her shirt. "Are you OK?" he asked.

"Please, sir," the woman cried, grabbing onto Peter. "My son is in there! He's four! I tried to go get him but they wouldn't let me -"

Before she could finish, Spider-Man took off.

He scaled the building. It wasn't that tall, and he could feel its structural insecurity. Fear welled up within him. What if I don't make it? he thought. What if they die? What if I die before I make it to them?

He heard a scream coming from one of the rooms. He ran toward it. The door was locked. He was starting to have trouble breathing now, as the smoke began to fill his lungs. He coughed.

Spider-Man backed up and then ran at the door, using the force of his body weight against the crumbling wood. The door came down.

He looked around him and quickly saw a little boy hiding under a tall wood table. Peter knelt down next to the kid. "I'm gonna get you out of here, to your Mommy, but you're going to have to come out, OK?" The kid nodded and slowly crawled out from under the table. Peter picked him up gently and ran.

Spider-Man only barely made it out before the house crumbled down behind him, devoured by the hungry flame. He ran over to the woman, who was still crying hystarically, and gave the boy to her. "Thank you," she sobbed, as she held her son tight. Spider-Man ran over to a police officer who had just arrived with the firefighters, who had quickly gotten to work quenching the greedy flames. "Was anyone else in there?" Peter asked, afraid of the answer.

"No," the uniformed woman replied, sending a wave of relief through Peter's body. "Just the kid. Thank you."

He nodded, and before she could ask him who he was, he flew off on his webs.

While he was on his way back to the tall building where he did most of his watching, Spider-Man heard a noise. A gunshot. It was about a mile away. He raced toward it, hearinng more gunshots as he swung. A spark of fear was elicited within him when he noticed he was getting closer and closer to his own apartment.

He dropped from the sky next to his own building, where a man wearing a black mask and holding a gun ran out of the door. Spider-Man jumped on him, knocking him over, and grabbed his gun. "What are you doing, man?" the teen shouted. Just then a police officer rolled up in his car and jumped out. "Hey!" he shouted, pointing his gun. "Put your hands up!" Spider-Man then realized that the officer was pointing the gun at him. His heart started to beat way too fast as he realized that he was wearing a mask and carrying a gun and holding a person down, appearing to have just committed the crime. The real criminal had even taken off his mask, and now looked like a normal, innocent citizen.

It looked like Spider-Man was guilty.

"I'm not- I didn't-" he spluttered, and dropped the gun. The police officer was approaching him now, the gun cocked and pointed at Spider-Man's head. Peter was panicking now. What do i do what do I do what do I do was the only thing racing through his head, and without really knowing what was happening, he shot a web in the air and flew out of sight.

Spider-Man raced back to the alley where his backpack was stashed on the side of a building. Shaking, he peeled off his suit, which was damp from sweat, and changed into normal clothes again. Peter Parker left the alley with his blue-grey backpack which contained his alter-ego and biggest secret, still shaking as he wandered into the street of Queens.

Without his proportionally spider-like abilities to help him, it took Peter a few minutes to reach his apartment again. The whole time, he felt like someone was watching him. His spider senses were screaming at him, but whenever he turned around, no one was there.

Passing Delmar's Deli-Grocery, he decided to go in. He needed a break from the paranoid feeling he got walking so vulnerably on the streets. The bell rang as he walked in, and he glanced up at the TV in the corner of the store. The news was on, and Mr. Delmar was watching. The screen showed live video footage of Peter's apartment, where a news lady was talking about how a masked vigilante had shot several people and that authorities were still searching for an unknown man known by the alias of Spider-Man, who was found armed at the scene of the crime. She began to list names of casualties. John Harding. Matthias Dentret. Jennifer Sondro. May Parker.

Peter's heart thudded to the floor. _No. This can't be happening. Not possible._

He was shaking a lot now, and his eyes welled up with tears. It hit him like a sack of bricks to the gut. Without even thinking, Peter sprinted out of the shop and arrived back at his appartment in thirty-seven seconds. The news lady was still there, with camera people. Ambulences and police cars crowded the streets. Several doctors were gathered around a group of people on stretchers. May was one of them, a bullet wound in her chest, blood on her shirt.

Tears were now streaming down Peter's face and he began to sob.

 _No_ , he thought, _this is your fault. She would still be alive if it weren't for you, if you had only gotten there sooner... The police are after you, and it's because this is ALL YOUR FAULT._

Peter turned around and ran away from his apartment, the diatribes inside his mind still screaming at him and haranguing him.

The thoughts echoed in his mind as he sprinted away from the scene of the crime.

 _It's all your fault._

 _It's all your fault._

 _It's all my fault._


	2. Chapter 2

"It has been three weeks since the incident in Queens, New York, and authorities are still searching for the masked vigilante known as Spider-Man, who is believed to be responsible for the crime. Recent investigation provides that May Parker-"

Peter had to resist the urge to snap up upon hearing his aunts name

"-one of the casualties of the attack-"

A knot formed in his stomach when he heard the reporter refer to May as a casualty, as if she wasn't a person, didn't have a life, didn't have feelings, didn't have a family...

"-was the legal guardian of her fifteen year old nephew, Peter Parker. Neighbors said he was always with her, and yet at the moment of her death, he is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he simply took advantage of the opportunity to sieze his freedom, but there is a possibility that he was an insider behind the attack. The New York Police Department and the FBI are currently searching diligently for the boy for further investigation."

Peter had to block the sound coming from the news broadcast on the TV behind him from his mind, which was not easy considering that his enhanced hearing constantly blasted any and every sound into his eardrums, regardless of whether or not he wanted to hear it. Pulling the soft hood of his blue sweatshirt farther down his face, Peter searched the shelves of the small corner store for something he could afford. Fingering his remaining four dollars and twenty-one cents cautiously, he picked up a sandwich with a sticker that said "$3.52" and brought it to the cash register and paid.

Peter let his mind wander as he ate the sandwich and walked back to his little corner of the universe. The little corner where he had stored his belongings. No one ever went there, except for him, which is why it was his. Which is why he was startled and shocked when he arrived to see a man standing in front of him. The man was just a little taller than Peter. He was wearing a grey jacket with a hood and sunglasses, obscuring Peter's view of his face.

"Hello, Peter Parker," the man said in a voice that sounded so familiar. Why did it sound familiar? _How does he know who I am?_

The stranger walked closer. Almost whispering, he said, "Or, should I say, _Spider-Man_."

Peter repressed a gasp. He stared at the man, trying not to show fear in his eyes or voice. "Who are you?" he asked warily, actively steadying his voice and consciously trying to avoid his usual pubescent voice cracks.

The man took a half step back. "A master off disguise, apparently," he stated, his voice laced with mirth. The man removed the glasses and hood in one swift motion. "Now do you recognize me?" Tony Stark asked. Even now, Tony was one for dramatic flair.

Peter stumbled backwards. "W- What are you... how did you... whaaaat-"

"Relax, kid," he said, "I'm here to make a deal with you."

"A- a deal?" Peter could feel his heart beating with anticipation as curiosity began to stream through him.

"How much money do you have currently? Like, a dollar?"

"Sixty-nine cents," he responded, suppressing the edge of a smile that began to grab the corners of his mouth. "I don't even have enough money for chicken nuggets."

Tony Stark blinked at him. "If that was a pop culture reference, I'm not going to understand it." He cleared his throat. "You're what, like 12? Broke, homeless... your identity is still hidden but time is running out before you're going to have to jeopardize that feigned safety in exchange for fulfillment of your basic human needs... I know how it works. You need help, desperately. I'm here to offer it to you. And in exchange you can do som thing for me."

Peter shifted his weight, rolling the options through his head. Or really, option. What else could he do? Besides, Iron Man already knew Peter's identity. What could he lose? "Ok," he said.

"Great," Mr. Stark said, clasping his hands together. "Here's how this will work. I will make sure your name is cleared, so the world will know that both Peter Parker and Spider-Man are innocent. I'll give you a place to stay and food et cetera. And in exchange, I have something that I want you to help me with."

"What's that?" Peter asked.

Tony smirked. "Have you ever been to Germany?"

—

Peter opened the back door to the black car and felt like he shouldn't go in. It was the nicest car he'd ever seen. He'd never been particularly wealthy, especially not after his parents' death, and had never had the luxury of nice things like this.

"Go on in," Mr. Stark said behind him, and Peter climbed onto the fancy black leather seats.

"Is this the kid?" asked the driver as Mr. Stark climbed into the passengers seat.

"Yep," he replied, buckling his seat belt.

"He doesn't look homeless," the driver claimed. He looked back at Peter over his shoulder. "When's the last time you took a shower?"

"Last night."

The driver frowned.

"How'd you manage that?" Tony asked.

"Not important," Peter retorted politely, the corners of his mouth turning up into a mischievous smile. He shifted in his seat. "Wait, so let me get this straight. _You_ want _me_ to g _o_ to _Germany_ to fight _Captain America_."

"Yep, that's about right," Mr. Stark replied. "As I said earlier, we had a bit of a falling out, and Cap sorta went crazy. We gotta work some sense into him."

"By attempting to best him in hand-to-hand combat?"

"Yes," Mr. Stark said with an air of haughty finality that Peter did not want to dispute.

For the rest of the car ride, Peter sat quietly in the expensive leather seat, wondering how on earth he had been recruited by Iron Man.

—

When the car parked, Peter climbed out of the car, gazing in awe at the building in front of him. The Avengers Tower.

"Where did you think we'd be going?"

"I don't know," Peter said, his voice flooded with awe as he stared up at the tower.

Mr. Stark and the driver, whose name Peter had deduced was Happy, led him into the building. As they walked into the elevator, Mr. Stark said, "Take us to the guest hall," talking apparently to no one. Then, an automated voice coming from nowhere and everywhere responded, "Right away, sir," and the elevator zoomed off.

"Wow," Peter whispered, the sound barely escaping his lips, but Mr. Stark heard it and smiled.

The elevator stopped and the metal doors opened, revealing a long hallway in front of them. Mr. Stark led Peter to a small room with sky blue wallpaper and grey carpet, a mahogany desk and bed, the latter of which was draped with a grey bedspread and a blue pillow. "This is your room for the time being," Mr. Stark said.

"Thank you," Peter said, his quiet voice leaking with awe and sincerity.

Mr. Stark nodded, and waved his hand in the direction of Happy Hogan, who was standing behind him. "This is Happy. He's kind of your point guy on this, but try not to stress him out. We'll be leaving in one week, and in that week I'll have to help you sort out all this nonsense you got yourself into and update your suit. Any questions?"

Peter shook his head, eyes wide with excitement. In reality, he had quite a few questions, but they were popping in and out of his head much faster than he could handle, and most of them were stream-of-consciousness nonsense and not actual, grammatically sound questions.

"Great," Mr. Stark said, stopping at the door and turning around to look Peter in the eye before leaving. "I'll see you around, kid." And then he walked out.

"He reminds me of you," Happy said, after the door was closed.

"Quirky, stubborn, lively... I like him."

What they didn't know was that Peter had enhanced audio reception and could hear every word they were saying. Spider-Man sat on his bed and smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

"Kill them!" growled the voice inside his head. "Kill them, now!"

Peter stared in fear at the people in front of him. His aunt. His uncle. They were tied up and bruised, tossed on the ground like two useless packages. His hand shaking so much that he could barely hold the gun in his hand, he shook his head. "No."

"Yes," growled the voice. Peter turned around warily, overcome with fear for what he would see in front of him. Sure enough, when he looked behind him, he saw hundreds of people and he could feel their fear as the dark clouds closed around them, as their lives were threatened by whatever entity had placed its voice inside Peter's head.

"Kill them," the voice growled one last time, "or I will kill all of these people in the most painful of ways."

Desperate, Peter looked up. He met eyes with Ben, who's brown eyes were wet with tears. "Do it," Ben whispered. "It'll be ok."

"I- I can't-" Peter cried, stumbling over his words.

Ben just nodded. "Yes, you can."

And so, Peter raised his shaking hand and fired it, then fired it again. And he watched as his aunt and uncle bled right in front of him. He glanced over his shoulder once more as the large group of terrified people behind him disappeared with the mist. It was a trap. An illusion. And he had just fallen for it, and killed the two people he loved the most because of it.

Peter ran over to his uncle and knelt down next to him. He wasn't moving. Peter grabbed his uncle's shirt and cried his name over and over but there was no response. He was gone. Tears streaming down his face, he moved over to his aunt. "Please," he sobbed, sitting on the ground next to the limp woman. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

"Please, I didn't— I was just trying to help— I didn't want to—"

And she just gave him an unforgiving glare. "Why?" she asked quietly. "Why would you do this?" She stared into his eyes, her eyes cold and unwelcoming. And then they went empty.

"No," Peter sobbed. And then the voice in his head spoke again. "You are weak."

Peter stood up and turned around, shouting, "I did what you wanted. Now leave me alone. Go away!"

And the voice laughed. A low, gravelly, undeniably evil laugh. "You may have fulfilled my wishes today, but that does not mean I will leave. You will never be free."

And then Peter woke up.

Sweat was pouring down his face, hands clenching his comforter so hard that his knuckles were white, breathing heavy.

One he regained his composure, Peter climbed out of bed and walked down the hall. He had been having nightmares for a while, but ever since his aunt died, they had been awful. First, the nightmares involved him finding his aunt and uncle's bodies. Then, he had to watch them die. And after he moved into the Avengers compound, the nightmares involved him being forced to kill them.

Peter walked down to the kitchen, making sure that his footsteps were quiet against the cool tile floors. Since moving in, it had been made clear to him that he could eat anything from the kitchen at any time. Still, he didn't want to wake anyone else. He didn't want them to know that he was having nightmares, that he was weak, that he would never be free.

And so he snuck into the kitchen and grabbed a granola bar from the pantries. He pulled the wrapper off and took a bite and then a voice behind him spoke softly, "couldn't sleep?"

Peter turned around to see Tony Stark behind him, also chewing on a granola bar.

Peter didn't want to admit the truth so he just mumbled, "uh... no."

Tony nodded understandingly. "I had a nightmare too."

Peter didn't say anything. He wasn't sure how Tony had known that he had had a nightmare, and he was surprised to hear that people as strong and fearless as Iron Man could have nightmares. Maybe Peter wasn't weak. Maybe he would be free, someday. And so he just nodded.

"Come on," Tony said after a moment of silence. "I need to blow off some steam, and from the looks of it, you do too."

—

"You're a good fighter," Tony said. "Is it you or your anger fighting?"

"How about both?" Peter said as he swung another punch that burst the punching bag open. He watched the sand pour out of the hole he had created. "Why did you take me in?" he asked, finally voicing the question that he had wanted the answer to ever since Tony had recruited him.

Tony pulled the bag down front the wall by its chains. "Because you needed help and so did I," he said.

Peter shook his head. "I know _that_. What I want to know is how you knew to find me, how you knew _where_ to find me. Why you were so willing to help a stranger."

"Kid, I help strangers every day. I'm Iron Man."

Peter nodded, assuming he wasn't going to get the answers he wanted, when Tony continued. "I saw you on the news. A wall-crawling superhero? I wanted to recruit you as soon as I heard about you. But I decided to wait until you had made your mark so that I wouldn't influence you until after you had decided who you were. And then, suddenly, you disappeared. And everyone was saying how Spider-Man had shot a bunch of people? That didn't sound quite right. So I did some research on you, found out a lot."

Peter felt a chill travel down his spine. Did he know everything?

"Your parents," Tony began. Of course, Peter thought. Of course he knows.

Tony continued. "They were abusive? I read transcripts of their court trial. And I learned that after your aunt and uncle got custody of you, the latter was killed. And then, three and a half weeks ago, your aunt died, too. Now, it's possible that you killed your aunt and uncle... but why would you do that? There seemed to be more to the story." Tony hung up another punching bag, which Peter pounded until it was knocked off the wall. The bag thudded to the ground, and Tony smiled. "Well done."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked confusedly.

"Channel your anger into the fight," Tony said, picking up the bag. "Don't let it consume you. Don't let it build up inside of you. Use it as a weapon. I learned that one the hard way." He grabbed hung the bag back up in is spot on the ceiling. "I know what it's like to have bad parents. Mine may not have been as bad as yours, but... you deserve better. I know this because... Well, you got powers. And you could have used them to rob a bank, or get back at your parents for what they did to you. But you didn't. You used them to help people. And even after everything in your life went wrong, you did nothing wrong."

The punching bag was now ready again, but Peter no longer felt like punching the crap out of it. He just stood there looking at it, thinking.

"How are you feeling?" Tony asked.

"Better," Peter responded, his voice laced with a touch of optimism and hope for the first time in a while.

"Good," Tony sighed, "because it's 6:00am, and today we have a lawsuit to deal with."


	4. Chapter 4

"Underoos!" Tony shouted, his voice echoing in the enclosed outdoor area of the airport.

"Oh, that's me, gotta go," Peter spoke into the camera of his phone, propping it up on the wing of the airplane. He did a wide flip, grabbing the shield right away from an unsuspecting Captain America's grip, webbed his hands up, and landed smoothly on a big white thing behind Tony.

"Nice job, kid," Tony told him, and Peter had to actively keep himself from smiling. He leaned back. "Thanks! Well, I could have stuck the landing a little better, it's just, new suit, — oh wait— it's nothing, T- Tony, it's perfect. Thank you." _Great_ , he thought. _Way to make a first impression on the Avengers_.

"Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation," Tony replied, and a spear of embarrassment shot up within Peter. Why did i say that, he thought. "Ok. Ca- Cap'n," he did a salute with his free hand, watching as Steve Rogers stared back in amazement and confusion. "Big fan, I'm Spider-Man..."

"Yeah, we'll talk about it later," Tony replied, waving his hand as if to shut Peter up.

"Hey everyone," Peter said, regretting having embarrassed himself in front of his idols.

"Just— good job."

And the next thing Peter knew, he was flying all over the place, swinging around, fighting Captain America (that was definitely the craziest part) and he was in GERMANY (that was the second craziest part) and his heart was racing, and exhilaration was coursing through his body, and he was living. For the first time in a while, he was truly alive.

And then it only got cooler from there. Peter got to fight Captain America firsthand. He didn't know why he was fighting him per se, but it was so cool. He shot his webs at the shield and as soon as he felt it set, he grabbed the string of webs and yanked, the shield flying once again toward him. And then he picked it up — wow it was a lot lighter than he had imagined — and threw it like a frisbee at Captain America. It caught him by surprise and he had to jump backwards to catch it and he fell onto his back and before Cap could get up, Peter had shot his webs into the air and flown off. He grabbed his phone, which was still recording on the plane, and pointed it toward himself. "Ok, so the craziest thing just happened," he yelled into the phone over the sound of the commotion behind him, "I was in a fight with Captain America and i stole his shield and i threw it at him, and um-" A particularly loud mechanical sound behind Peter interrupted him and he turned around. That one guy whose name he didn't know was, like, thirty feet tall. "What the hell, he's big now. i gotta go, hang on." He set his phone face up, and flew toward the huge man.

The big guy picked him up with his fingers and tossed him carelessly.

Peter threw a web but before it landed his back hit onto something hard.

A building.

And he crashed through it, the force of his body breaking through the brick wall. He felt tenderness on his back where the impact was strongest. "That's gonna leave a bruise," he groaned, even though no one was listening. He stood up cautiously

and then

it exploded. the building exploded.

and everything went back.

* * *

BOOM

The explosion knocked everyone out of their stances.

Immediately, the fighting stopped.

Tony Stark instinctively ducked.

He had heard explosions way too many times before.

He had learned the hard way that they brought nothing good.

And a second after the initial shock faded, he stood up.

And then a single thought popped into his head.

"Peter"

And then he was sprinting toward the building. "FRIDAY, where is Peter?" he asked, hoping and praying and begging that his fear would not be true.

"Peter is underneath the collapsed building that exploded."

And like a lead weight his heart sank.

he ran to the building.

he was shaking.

he couldn't see anything. his vision was blurry. why was there water in his eyes? where did that come from?

And he was pushing, pushing, pushing so hard but it wasn't working.

Adrenaline was now pumping through him, and anger. And he channeled it into his hands, into his body. He shoved the whole of his body weight against the building and, with the help of his suit, he felt it move under his touch.

But not enough.

Drenched in sweat and already filled with panic, he realized that even with the suit he could never move the building.

Not without help.

And then another set of hands were there, pushing along with him.

And another.

and another.

and finally, they got the crumbling cinderblock pile to move enough for them to see

a smallish body

wearing a red and blue suit

lying on the ground

as still and silent as the rocks around him.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter was lying on the ground

as still as the rocks around him

Tony knelt down next to the kid

he pulled his mask off

and he could feel his heart stop

because there was blood on his face

and the mask was ripped

oh shit

he pushed the spider button on the suit

and pulled away the edge of the warm, wet fabric, hands shaking, the fear of what he might see choking him

and nausea hit him

when he saw

that Peter's chest was sticky with warm, red blood

and his skin was torn

and it was punctured with shrapnel

with debris from the explosion.

And suddenly, he was back in Afghanistan

and he could feel the shrapnel in his own heart

and he cried out in pain

and everything was blurry.

"Steady, Stark," Steve spoke in a low, calming voice, placing a hand firmly on Tony's shaking shoulder. "He's gonna be ok."

Tony caught his breath as Steve gently picked the kid up, careful not to touch his chest where the impact was worst.

And then, Tony snapped out of his daze. _What am i doing?_ he thought. _The kid — my kid — needs help. And what am i doing? I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself. How can i not be there for him when he needs me the most?_ His thoughts weren't that concise — they were more like a hundred bullets being shot at him all at the same time, or like a broken record, screaming at him over and over.

Steve began to sprint toward the plane, and Tony turned on his blasters and met him there.

The rest of that afternoon was a blur.

He remembers them calling Helen Cho

he remembers her telling him to try and stop the blood flow

but he doesn't remember much else.

—

"What the hell, Tony?" Steve asked, as soon as things had calmed down, anger flooding his wide eyes. "He's just a kid!"

"He's not 'just a kid,' Rogers," Tony retorted exhaustedly. He already fully blamed himself for everything that happened and he didn't need Steve to remind him. He had to fight back even if it was solely for the sake of fighting back. "He's a superhero. I made a deal with him-"

"You made a deal with a twelve-year-old? That can't be legal."

"He's fifteen! And he needed help. He was homeless, and you made me very desperate."

"Hold on, do not blame me for this."

"Why not? Whose team caused the explosion? Who planted the explosive?"

Steve reeled in indignance. "You think I did that?"

"Well, who else would put a bomb in an abandoned building right next to where we were fighting?"

Steve was about to argue back when the door opened suddenly, stopping their conversation abrubtly. Bruce Banner walked out.

"Is he awake?" Tony asked almost instinctively, without thinking, his argument with Steve no longer of any importance to him.

Bruce shook his head. "But we think we know where the explosion came from." He lead them into his lab. "If our tests were done correctly, Peter got his powers seven months ago when he was bitten by an artificially enhanced spider. Its venom, which contained radioactive particles, entered his bloodstream. As his blood circulated throughout his body, it began to adopt the same genetically enhanced properties of the spider, proportionally relative to his size."

Tony nodded. "So, what you're saying is that the radioactivity never left his body."

"That's correct," Bruce said. "They scanned him and when they got the results of the test his whole body showed up glowing; that's why they called me in. The radioactivity entered his bloodstream, and it never left. The explosion wasn't a bomb; it was an unstable generator. That building was closed down because it was unsafe, but when Peter crashed through the wall of the building, the radioactivity that was being emitted from his body... well, it didn't mix well."

"But if he has had this radioactivity in his body for the past seven months, and it's strong enough to blow up a generator, why hasn't he or any of us had any side effects of radiation poisoning? What kind of radiation is it?" Tony asked.

"That's the thing, Bruce responded. "I'm an expert in radioactivity and this is nothing I've ever seen before. I think it's a completely new kind, or at least one i've never experienced-"

Just then the door burst open and Scott Lang ran in, shaking all over, hyperventilating, eyes red and wide.

"I'm so sorry!" he half sobbed. "This is all my fault!"


	6. Chapter 6

When Peter woke up, the only thing he could register was pain.

He was dizzy and it felt like he was in a video game with a few seconds of lag.

He was in a bed with blood-soaked bandages covering the ripped skin on his bare chest.

He groaned and gasped for breath, trying desperately to evade the pain that was quickly eating away at his very existence.

Everything slowly faded away into black.

He heard a crash but he was too tired to care.

He heard loud footsteps but everything hurt too much for him to care.

Maybe two seconds later, maybe two years later, the black veil began to fade away. Peter could see a large figure next to him.

"Can you hear me?" said Steve Rogers.

Peter blinked slowly and the blur subsided.

"Captain America?" he mumbled. The man smiled. "Call me Steve. Please."

Peter sat up slowly and glanced confusedly at the thin clear tube in his arm.

"Pain medicine," Steve explained, "i was the only one in the room when FRIDAY alerted us that you were awake. i couldn't find any of the doctors but luckily i have some medical training... Nobody realized you'd wake up so quickly. Bruce hypothesized that it would take you a week to regain consciousness because of the radiation's effect on your brain. It seems like you have some crazy healing powers which saved your life earlier and now they're helping you get back on your feet."

Any other time Peter would freak out that THE Bruce Banner was helping HIM and interested in his powers, but having Captain America sitting right next to his bed kind of put things into perspective.

"How do you feel?" Steve asked.

 _Good Question_ , Peter thought. "Um... kind of woozy?" _Woozy, that's a funny word._ He giggled.

"The opioids are definitely setting in."

Just then the door slammed open and Tony Stark ran in.

"What are you doing?" he yelled at Steve. "Get away from him!"

Steve stood up indignantly. "I did nothing wrong. I'm only trying to help. Which is more than I can say about you."

"How dare you," Tony began to walk toward Steve, a dangerously angry expression on his face. "You have no idea what I -"

"why are you fighting?" Peter spoke tiredly, "Can't we all just get along?"

"Peter, do you realize what this man has done?" Steve glared at Tony.

"What I'VE done? Why don't YOU go first?"

The teenager just looked at them dizzily. "I don't really care. Whatever you did in the past doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't determine who you are." he laughed. "let it be, let it be…" he hummed quietly.

"Did you just quote the Beatles at me?" Tony laughed. "That is WAY before your time."

"i think he's high from the analgesics," Steve whispered to Tony.

Suddenly Peter groaned in agony. A sharp stabbing sensation spontaneously exploded in his abdomen and began to spread. He gasped for breath. The pain was choking him.

Both men rushed over to him in a panic.

"Its… ok," he gasped out. "This is not… the worst thing… to happen to.. me…"

Then the pain just got worse. He laid down again, his whole body throbbing. He could hear shouting but it was just noise, faded and fuzzy and echoing in his head. He couldn't understand what anyone was saying. He could see people moving around but they were blurry and moving in slow motion and he didn't know who was who anymore.

Did the room get darker or… was he…

Peter Parker didn't want to die. He had always been afraid of death. The memories of his parents' untimely demise and his Uncle Ben's murder haunted him constantly.

But now, dying didn't seem that bad.

At least it would stop the pain.

The horrible, excruciating pain that was the only thing Peter could feel. All he could see was pain. All he could hear was his own silent cries.

And then it faded.

Everything faded.

He could see a figure walking toward him. Glowing brightly.

"Aunt May?"

She held out her hand, a soft, kind smile on her young face.

He took her hand.

He looked around. He could see the vital signs monitor next to his bed.

It was a straight line.

He saw Tony sobbing against the edge of the bed. He had never seen Tony cry. He wanted to tell him that it would be ok.

Steve had his hand on Tony's back.

Peter was glad that they weren't fighting.

He took May's hand and followed her out of the room.

Nobody knew why it happened.

Bruce drove himself mad trying to figure out what happened. He realized that there were still a few pieces of debris in Peter's chest. Pieces that were still radioactively charged. And they had killed him slowly while the pain medications made him too high to realize.

They all blamed themselves.

Scott thought it was all his fault for throwing the kid at a radioactive building.

Steve hated himself for causing everything, for going so far that Tony had to recruit a 15 year old kid to help calm him down.

Bruce wished he had done something sooner. That he had realized what was happening

And Tony blamed himself more than anyone else. After all, it was all his fault, wasn't it?

Maybe if it wasn't for him, he thought, Peter would still be alive.

He'd still be happy.

But it was too late.


End file.
